


playing games as a pastime

by encore_koscribbles



Category: Haikyuu!!, 約束のネバーランド | Yakusoku no Neverland | The Promised Neverland (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Even though Norman is mostly just mentioned he is still playing 5D chess, Gen, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Parallel Universes, The Promised Neverland Manga Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23350183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/encore_koscribbles/pseuds/encore_koscribbles
Summary: “So, like… You’re this, uh, kid, in this orphanage full of, erm… Genius children. But then, it turns out that the orphanage’s actually a farm for human brains—because monsters run them. They like to eat human brains.”It came to Kenma, who was still seven years old, that Kuroo might have been troubled as a child. Troubled, like, he didn’t know who to talk to, and that kind of stuff.But then again, it wouldn't stop them from playing video games and volleyball, though.
Relationships: Emma & Ray (The Promised Neverland), Kozume Kenma & Kuroo Tetsurou, Kuroo Tetsurou & Ray (The Promised Neverland)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 156





	1. Act Twenty Seven of Who-Knows-How-Many

Quiet, reserved, and shy. When people hear that nowadays, they immediately think of Kenma—Nekoma’s quick-thinking but withdrawn setter. “Fragile” setter, some annoying folks might say.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Kuroo’s father said to his mom. As the adults exchanged greetings, the two boys stared at each other with wide eyes, hiding behind the shadows of their respective parents. 

Kenma’s first encounter with Kuroo was an awkward one. Stuck in the younger’s room, it was hard to imagine a future where Kuroo was outgoing and practically a party-animal. Seven year old Kenma would never have thought of that future—it was just weird thinking about it. 

They played some _Virtua Fighter_ as a pastime. Kuroo was eight and Kenma was seven when they first met.

* * *

Though, it was about three months later that Kuroo asked Kenma a rather weird question. “Hypothetical” one, Kuroo quickly added, but Kenma still stared at him weirdly. They had begun playing more volleyball, and at this point, Kenma supposed their relationship could be what was known as “being friends.”

But still.

“There’s… There’s this game I’m playing,” Kuroo said, gaze drifting to the left as Kenma stared at the bead of cold sweat lining his friend’s face. “It’s this… Puzzle game. Yeah. Very hard one.”

“... What is it called?”

“Ah- uh. Erm,” Kuroo fidgeted nervously. Blinking hard, his gaze nervously returned to meet with Kenma’s. 

After a rather long pause, Kuroo gulped. His eyes drifted off again. “I don’t remember.”

Nose scrunching up, Kenma squinted. “Huh.”

Another awkward silence. Kenma walked over to the cabinet containing all of his video games.

“... So, what about it?”

Suddenly, the air around Kuroo lit up as he practically brightened at Kenma’s willingness to converse. Setting down the volleyball he was fiddling around with, the boy quickly cleared his throat.

“So, like… You’re this, uh, kid, in this orphanage full of, erm… Genius children. But then, it turns out that the orphanage’s actually a farm for human brains—because monsters run them. They like to eat human brains.”

Kenma blinked slowly, shuffling through the cabinet. “... Huh, what a premise. Sounds like a psychological thriller to me. Is this age limited?” He squinted again. “Should you be playing whatever this game is?”

Wincing, Kuroo continued. “Er… Well, anyways… Like, Kenma. The game’s _really_ hard. Like _really_ , _really_ hard. So I need a bit of help… Since you’re good with games and all. And you’re smart. And you really like to strategize, and stuff like that.”

“... Yeah, I do,” without taking anything out of the cabinet, he closed it and returned to his seat at his bed. “So?”

Kuroo was fiddling with his hands again. He had been doing that a lot, Kenma noticed. 

“So, uh... You, the protagonist kid, finds out the truth about the orphanage, and…”

It came to Kenma, who was still seven years old, that Kuroo might have been troubled as a child. Troubled, like, he didn’t know who to talk to, and that kind of stuff.

Shuffling on his seat, Kenma listened carefully as Kuroo explained about the game mechanics (he didn’t know Kuroo was _that_ well acquainted with games). 

* * *

The protagonist of the unknown game was good friends with two other kids—Genius Kid and Really-Dumb-but-Kind Friend A. Unlike the protagonist himself, the two kids were natural geniuses—the protagonist had to study hard to make sure he would survive each shipment.

That aspect of the game made it so that at some point of each act (each act being every major shipment), you had to solve a “test” to see whether or not you survive for the next.

In Act One, the game started off with the protagonist, a six years old boy, who stumbled upon the truth due to his lack of “childhood amnesia.” Kenma thought it was an interesting concept—he had yet to play a lot of puzzle games, but this was new. 

Kuroo apparently already figured out many key points of the game—key points being the shipment times and how the shipments worked. He was now in Act Three, where the boy, now eight years old and a “spy” for the enemy, had to try and figure out how to save his friends before they all reached twelve years old (or if one of them magically turned dumb).

“Once you lose, it’s game over,” Kuroo warned with a quiet voice. His strange bangs were covering his eyes. 

“A one-try type of game?” Kenma asked. Kuroo nodded. “Like, if you lose, you lose all of your data and you must try again?”

After a small pause, Kuroo nodded again. 

“Huh. It would be really annoying if you lose mid-way, then. Or when you’re almost there.”

“Yeah, so I _really_ don’t want a ‘game over,’ right now!”

Kenma still really wanted to know what game it was, though—maybe he could try playing it himself. It seemed interesting enough, after all, especially seeing how Kuroo was so invested in it. A mysterious one-try game.

But then again… That was if it actually existed. 

Kuroo must have a really good imagination or something.

… Or something.

“The main objective right now is to ensure the escape of Genius Kid and Really-Dumb-but-Kind Friend A?” Kenma inquired. 

“Yeah,” Kuroo scratched the back of his head. “But they can’t know—you can’t let any of the kids know, or the ‘Mama’ might find out. You don’t know if any of the other kids are actual moles, after all. That’s the hard part.”

“Eh… That’s annoying…” Kenma slumped down on his chair. Staring up at the ceiling, he made a short hum. “Is it possible for Genius Kid and Really-Dumb-but-Kind to be moles as well? I mean… Since in the game, you can’t tell _anyone_ … No options for that, at least.”

“... No,” Kuroo laughed quietly. There was a rather solemn look on his face.

It made him look old. 

“Otherwise, what a horrible twist it would be!”

“Yeah, it would,” Kenma sniffled. “But story wise, very smart. And frustrating.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo agreed. “Frustrating.”

During those days, it was actually the darkest moments of Kuroo Kenma had witnessed. He was awfully withdrawn, barely talked and all, but after he started discussing the Game, some light returned to his eyes. Kenma thought it was because the kid missed his old friends, but something would be there haunting at the back of beady, quiet eyes. 

No, not quite. Kuroo was not exactly quiet, maybe he was the same sort of “silent” as he himself was—they just don’t talk. They talk more in their minds—talking endlessly in their minds.

Kuroo came over often to discuss the next course of events. There were lots of “close calls” in the game, and it kept Kenma on the edge of his seat on his bed. Apparently, the game proceeded day by day—a month in the game was a month in real life. The cliffhangers drove Kenma crazy. 

They began researching and studying more, too, because the game was set in two thousand and something-something—basically a futuristic thriller game. And since the creator probably based a lot of the game mechanics with things you can find _nowadays_ , it was important to understand the options you could juggle around with to ensure survival during “shipment days.”

That, and the “spy” deal. Choosing the option to be a “spy” for the enemy, the protagonist gets to obtain “prizes”—and that was key.

“An instant camera?” Kuroo blinked at the computer screen. Kenma nodded, scrolling past images and offers. 

“There’s that thing in the flash… And that’s what we need. Remember the tool we discussed—to deactivate the transmitters? We’ll need that, and it’s pretty nondescript. The ‘Mama’ wouldn’t think much of it.”

Kuroo hummed. “That’s true… Since each shipment is about two months apart and there’s twelve months each year… Do you think we should get the camera last?”

Kenma calculated the possibilities. “Yeah. Get it last. This group all have it, so it doesn’t matter what model you’ll get. Just make sure it’s an instant camera, at least.”

Another kid got “shipped” during “shipment day.” Kenma felt a little sad about it. Kuroo was rather detailed on each kid, after all. He couldn’t help but feel a connection to them. 

All thirty eight children. All of them, and the new additions that came to replace the dead ones.

Kenma heard Kuroo humming in the middle of the night. They were having a sleepover, the older long fallen asleep as they binge watched volleyball clips. Kuroo had his head squished between two pillows, one stolen from beneath Kenma’s head. It was no wonder where he got that unruly bed hair from.

Turning off the computer, a frown remained on Kenma’s face.

He heard the same tune multiple times, especially during times Kuroo was stressed.

* * *

Kenma was free during a Sunday, so Kuroo took him to a child-friendly gym-thing where kids and more kids play miniature, child-friendly volleyball. It was also when this dark cloud hanging around Kuroo’s shoulders finally eased, and Kuroo was a lot happier, now.

Kenma suspected that it was because of the whatever-you-call-it-mones that would release whenever you exercise. They were supposed to make you happy or something—the perks of researching stuff for Kuroo’s game. 

That, and the elderly old man who came by—all the staff at the child-friendly gym were very respectful to him. 

It was also the first time Kenma saw what you call a “spike,” and how Kuroo swung up his arm in the air and _spiked_.

A release. Kenma saw a release. Kuroo looked… 

Happy. 

Or in awe.

Or… Kenma didn’t know.

“All we got to do is lower the net,” the grandpa had said. “The _joy from doing_ should be what’s important, first and foremost.”

_Those who love something will become skilled in it._

Kuroo had taken those words to heart. Kenma was glad for his friend, because the boy finally became less scared (he noticed that Kuroo was always on the edge), and instead became more obnox-

He meant, started to love volleyball. Like, not as a “game,” like when Kuroo first wanted Kenma to play with, but as a “hobby,” and then very quickly, a “passion.” 

And…

The ball hits his arms as Kenma successfully bounced it back. His arms were red because of nothing but a little internal bleeding—and the smaller child began to eat more every dinner. His parents were quite happy about that. 

They began watching more volleyball clips than researching for special compounds of chemicals or tools that could be deconstructed for other uses, too. Kuroo managed to persuade Kenma to pick up setting (what a flaming lie he told—setting, a position where you don’t need to move much? Bah!), and Kuroo also managed to make more friends and talk about things other than volleyball.

“How’s your game?” Kenma one day asked. The volleyball clip continued to play as its image was reflected on Kuroo’s eyes. They were watching a match between Japan and Italy—many of the clips Kuroo brought over were rewatched multiple times.

“... On Act Five,” Kuroo sighed heavily. “It’s really annoying! Now it’s like a waiting game—but she’s really too cunning, that ‘Mama.’ Because she basically knows each kid inside out, it gives her the advantage of knowing the protagonist’s relations with other characters.”

Kenma hummed. “What ‘prize’ did you get this time?” 

“Ah. Candy.”

“Yay.”

Replaying a certain section of the clip, their eyes boggled at the moment a set was tossed from one end to the other side of the court. 

“Did you try getting gameboys?”

Kuroo nodded. “Yeah, only up to a certain model, though. Couldn’t even get a DS!”

Kenma grimaced. “The ‘Authorities’ in that game’s so cheap.”

The other boy laughed. “I know, right?!”

When Kenma was having trouble with his English homework (because it was really a pain to learn another language), Kuroo was surprisingly helpful. As a matter of fact—the younger was beginning to have his suspicions that Kuroo might be in the “advance” classes, as well. The older would sometimes complain about his workload, but he always managed to complete it (not to mention _well)_ before it was due.

And at that thought, it kind of annoyed Kenma, because Kuroo kept calling him a super-genius. And Kuroo probably _knew_ it was annoying him, so it was even _more_ annoying. 

How irritating. 

… The protagonist of the game was a hard worker, as described by Kuroo, but not a natural genius.

Kenma continued to rewatch a few volleyball clips. 

He sighed.

* * *

People expect kids to get along and socialize because that was what seemed to be healthy for kids their age. Kenma just didn’t like to go out, though, to socialize and whatever. He was perfectly happy staying indoors, playing games and searching for funner games. It wouldn’t drain him—he just liked the way he was. 

But people still expect kids to get along and socialize because that was what seemed to be healthy for kids their age. Staying indoors and playing video games all day long didn’t seem very healthy. Kenma understood that viewpoint, at least to an extent, but still.

His parents considered him to be responsible and smart, an independent child. His distance with other kids was what worried them, however. Kenma was aware of that. Him playing volleyball with Kuroo gave them a bit of comfort, but Kenma knew that it wasn’t quite enough.

He punched some buttons as his game character unleashed a combo attack. 

The door slammed open and Kuroo was there, standing at his house’s halls with a volleyball tucked under an arm. He became _really_ obnoxious recently, Kenma observed after jolting from the impact of door hitting wall. 

His friend grinned. “Let’s go!”

Kenma grimaced. Kuroo laughed.

He tried tossing the ball into the air. It was cool that day, and open eyes stared widely as he watched the Mikasa ball fly. An arm was brought down as Kuroo whacked the yellow-blue volleyball, a loud _thud_ sounding in the neighborhood. 

“Another kid’s shipped out,” the older boy said. He ran ahead to get the ball. “One of the older kids.”

Kenma stood there quietly as Kuroo ran back. The ball pressed into small but growing hands, Kuroo released a quiet sigh. 

“Here!” He passed the ball over with a grin. Kenma caught it.

The sun was at an angle, thus casting the yard with a yellow-orange hue. Kenma watched as their shadows stretched. 

He blinked slowly. “The game wants you to feel guilty, huh.”

Kuroo blinked. “What?”

Kenma looked up to meet the other’s eyes. “The game. Since it’s a mind game, it’s probably the developer’s intention to make you feel horrible as you continue to play. Which makes me wonder…” His gaze slowly lowered to the ground. He stared at the volleyball sitting in his arms. 

“I wonder if it’s possible to save _all_ of the orphans, or if that’s an ending possible to reach,” he chuckled quietly to himself. “Or maybe the actual objective _is_ to save them all. That game of yours has a lot of twists, after all.”

Kuroo stared blankly at him. He looked down and nodded, letting the younger’s words sink in.

“I dunno,” he simply replied. Motioning for the ball, Kenma tossed it to him as Kuroo bumped it back. They spent the next ten minutes bumping—Kenma felt his arms ache. They were red and spotty.

There were no NewTube videos or webpages to tell them all fifteen or whatnot endings for the unnamed game. So at that thought, Kenma grumbled at the stress and anxiety that could potentially rise. 

And yeah. There were no NewTube videos or web pages to help him with a situation like this. 

“I wanna practice the _Personal Time Difference Attack_ ,” Kuroo said in a very serious tone. “Kenma, toss me a ball!”

Kenma grimaced harder. 

* * *

“But I don’t think Kenma himself wants to go.”

It wasn’t that Kenma was being excluded or bullied. It wasn’t like that at all. He remembered listening to the teacher as she talked about the importance of standing up for others, and Kenma _did_ think about it, too, what bullying meant. 

If the “victim” did not feel like they were being bullied, does that count as “being bullied?” Some might argue that it was some sort of syndrome-thing that Kenma could not remember the name of, but what if… For example, it wasn’t that syndrome, but it was that they genuinely don’t mind the “teasing?” And in the first place, to what extent does the _teasing_ equivalent to _bullying_? Was there some sort of manual that he could read?

Maybe if Kenma actually experienced what it felt to be “bullied,” he would understand. But the problem was—he just _doesn’t_ know. How could he understand it if he doesn’t know how it feels? A paradox. Kenma hated it. 

In a way, it was just like how he hated vague terms like “guts.” Kenma did not believe he was being “excluded” (which ultimately somehow jumped into the “being bullied” category), and he was fine playing video games by himself. Even if someone _was_ playing with him, he wouldn’t mind it that much as well. Someone like Kuroo.

But people keep making it such a big deal, and Kenma _got_ that, he understood bullying was bad and excluding others was not good—and it _should_ be a big deal. But people just _keep_ making it like… He didn’t know. No, he knew. 

Kenma sometimes couldn’t help but think: maybe he as himself was really not “okay.”

Maybe he _should_ be upset, worried that he was not interacting with his peers. Sad that he couldn’t quite speak up or have the energy to talk to others. 

Maybe it was a bad thing, to be who (and who Kenma knew clearly) he was. 

(“Be yourself!” Said the teacher with a bright line of a smile. Kenma was looking out of the window, imagining a dragon soaring through the skies. “Embrace your qualities, be proud of who you are!”)

There was a quiet beeping when Kenma sat alone at his desk, eyes glued to the screen of his DS as the rest of his classmates ran out to play. The weather was really nice that day, perfect for sleeping in and taking a nap.

Oh, and he leveled up. Now he could get better loot—that was awesome.

“But I don’t think Kenma himself wants to go,” Kuroo said.

It made Kenma think of those times Kuroo would somberly talk about his game. 

The younger boy had just stopped at the end of the staircase towards the kitchen when he heard his voice. His dad was talking to Kuroo, who was outside in the front yard. 

Since Kuroo became more open with other people, recently, he began doing things not limited to video games, hanging out with Kenma and volleyball. He picked up other things, and whenever Kuroo went out playing soccer with other kids, as his dad inquired his friend, Kenma wouldn’t be invited. Kenma would be at his room, playing some video games and once again, be at his room.

Not quite healthy for kids his age, no?

As his friend stood there in the front yard, eyes wide and staring at Kenma’s dad, suddenly, Kenma got nervous.

… Kenma got nervous, and his hands were quickly clamming up in his pockets.

_Why don’t you invite Kenma more,_ his dad had asked. He was genuinely curious.

Kenma’s friend replied. Kenma kept his eyes glued to the ground.

“I really understand the feeling of just not wanting to go to someplace or do something. If I thought Kenma wanted to go, even a little bit, I’d definitely take him with me. But I don’t think Kenma feels that way.”

Kuroo was a hardworking genius. He studied hard for his tests and was a good kid overall.

“But once Kenma decides he likes something, he pours his soul into it.”

Just like his video games.

Just like…

“So he’s gonna be alright.”

Kuroo’s conversation with his dad ended with an enthusiastic exchange of “goodbyes” and “see you laters.” Smiling inwardly, Kenma quickly grabbed a cup of tangerine juice and hopped back up to his room.

His dad playfully ruffled his hair before Kenma went back upstairs. Asking what would be for dinner, his dad said it was going to be his favorite. 

Now his parents wouldn’t worry anymore, that was nice.

That was really nice.

Pushing resume, Kenma conquered the advanced level monster in one go. 

* * *

Kuroo was one year older than Kenma. That also meant that he would be graduating first, as well. 

In November, Kuroo was going to be twelve. To most people, they probably wouldn’t notice, but there was this tension on the older’s shoulders. Kenma saw it.

That tension.

The thing was—Kuroo’s game was not set at the same time as real life. Sure, it proceeded day by day, but the dates wouldn’t match up. Kenma kept track carefully, he pretty much invested some of his time into that game. Volleyball and some video games aside, _that_ game was another one of their pastimes. 

And maybe something a bit more.

The frown on Kuroo’s face was growing as they worked on their homework. They were in Kenma’s room, as usual, and eraser crumbs were everywhere.

“... What’s up?” Kenma decided to break the silence willingly. A beat later, Kuroo made an exaggerated sigh, leaning back on his chair.

“Twelve is the oldest the orphans can go… And the MC and his buddies are currently eleven…”

“Oh,” Kenma looked back down to his worksheets. “Aren’t you going to let Genius and Really Dumb know? That option is available now, right?”

Kuroo nodded. “During Conny’s shipment day.”

Kenma nodded along. “And that would be two more brains to help think of other escape plans. Once Genius joins in, I bet you’d start playing 5D chess or something.”

Kuroo snorted into laughter. “That’s very possible!”

There was an awkward pause.

“... Hey, Kuroo.”

“Yeah?”

Kenma scribbled a bit in his notebook, later fiddling with his mechanical pencil. “What _is_ the plan, actually, for the escape?

“Are you really telling me all of the details of the game?”

“... Ah,” Kuroo let out a light chuckle. “Well… We’re pretty much set about the problem with the transmitters, as for the escape itself…”

He picked at an eraser crumb. Looking back up to meet Kenma’s eyes, he grinned. “We’ll see!”

Kenma gave him a deadpan look, and within a few, the deadpan look faded.

He thought about the first time he saw Kuroo hit a spike. They were at the child-friendly gym playing child-friendly volleyball, and Kuroo swung up his arm and spiked. Kenma thought about that, and he thought about how sometimes, Kuroo’s cheerfulness and obnoxiousness seemed forced.

Like he was trying his best to have a great time.

And perhaps trying too hard to have a good time.

Kenma thought about the term “missed opportunities,” and at that thought, his mind wandered at the sometimes somber look on his friend’s face.

Like right now.

And like a week later, when Conny’s fateful shipment day arrived.

“And _another_ twist! The idiotic geniuses forgot to bring Little Bunny back!” Kuroo said with exasperation, throwing up his arms in distress. Kenma stared blankly at the older kid. 

“... Seriously?”

Kuroo made a strangled sound before replying. “Yeah, I just can’t believe them!” 

It was the first thing in the morning, and the first thing that happened when Kenma was about to eat his breakfast was a Kuroo storming into the house with the intensity of a pro-volleyball match. Kenma was surprised.

Quickly saying hello to Kenma’s parents, he quickly sat beside Kenma as he ranted away about the turn of events. It seemed like the stress had hit the limit and was now bursting under high pressure. 

“And can they not be obvious enough?! Mama’s going to find out at this rate—just _look_ at their horrible acting skills! Not to mention getting them out— _I’m_ seriously going to die at this rate!”

“Eh… Sounds serious.”

Kuroo’s beginning-to-go-through-puberty voice broke. “ _E_ _xactly!_ ”

“And then?”

“And _then_ ,” Kuroo rubbed his temples. “I don’t know. Mama purposely showed them the transmitters—by now they probably found out about how shady the house is, too. I already joined their group—the situation calls for it. And, and just—”

His knuckles were white. Kenma observed quietly. There was quite an expression on Kuroo’s face.

So Kenma hummed, picking at a grain of rice. “And onwards as a spy.”

“... Yeah.”

Kenma glanced up at Kuroo. “Did you eat?”

“Ah.”

Kenma’s mom happily prepared him breakfast.

* * *

“They want to save everybody.”

Kenma blinked slowly.

“And pops out a new objective: somehow try to persuade them not to. The game’s seriously amping up the levels.”

“... Oh. Well, judging on how their personalities are, I can imagine them doing so…” 

Kuroo sighed again. He was sighing a lot, recently. 

“Thirty seven of us in total, now that Conny’s gone, and most of us are under the age of six! They’re crazy, I’m telling you, and not to mention _Nor_ -” Kuroo abruptly stopped himself with a cough- “Mister Genius, he’s just… They’re all _crazy_.”

“... So they are. What are you going to do about it?”

Kuroo stood up. “Hit some spikes and go on with the same plan. I’m not letting them blindly jump off the ledge and lose their lives.”

“Ah.”

Kenma frowned. 

“Okay.”

The next day arrived.

“And now we’re stuck doing chores.”

“... Oh.”

As the week progressed, Kuroo increasingly became more and more jumpy. It became painfully obvious, especially to Kenma’s parents whenever Kuroo came by to rant and play volleyball. It was summer break, the middle of August, and they had summer homework to do. 

“But should you be playing volleyball right _now_?” Kenma decided to ask, bumping the ball back to Kuroo. If he recalled, Kuroo had some projects to do—the type that took time.

“Volleyball helps me relax,” Kuroo simply stated. He bumped it back. “And I want to practice.”

Kenma’s nose scrunched up.

_But I have homework… And that newly released game I really want to start._

Sometimes, Kuroo behaved like he shouldn’t be wasting his time here, doing his homework (that remained neat and tidy and complete) or just— _being_ here. Kenma was beginning to see hints of panda-eyes, and it became increasingly more worrisome as the days passed by. 

They wrote down plans and formulated strategies and all, they had been doing so for a long time, but it seemed like it wasn’t enough.

On the fourth day, Kuroo suddenly called early in the morning. 

“Another adult,” Kuroo stated. Kenma rubbed his eyes, he was still in his bed’s tight clutches.

“What?” Kenma replied hoarsely. He was seriously sleepy. 

“Mama got reinforcements,” the boy’s voice was very hushed and tired. His grandfather was probably still asleep. “A ‘Sister.’ She’s insanely enthusiastic in her role.”

“... Oh,” Kenma frowned. “You’ve been playing in the middle of the night?”

“Wha-no! Of course not! But- well, yeah. I was.”

Kenma wondered when Kuroo _was_ playing the game. The conversation never came up.

“So what do you think?” Came the muffled voice from his phone. Kenma slowly sat up on his bed. “It’s kind of stressing me out—hard to think clearly. Even though we’ve made plans just in case, for these kinds of scenarios.”

“... Well, it’s hard to think clearly at _this_ hour for starters,” Kenma scratched the back of his ear. “You’re playing volleyball, too. Isn’t self-maintenance important?”

There was a long pause on the other side of the line.

“Kuroo?”

About thirty seconds later, Kenma heard a small chuckle.

“Yeah,” came Kuroo’s reply. Kenma could hear him smiling. “Eating and sleeping well is important. It helps with anxiety and panic.”

Kenma nodded. “Exactly.”

A beat passed before Kenma spoke up.

“You’re… Awfully immersed in this game, aren’t you. More so than I am with gaming.”

Kuroo was silent again.

Staring up to the ceiling, Kenma flopped back down to his back.

“See you later?”

“... Yeah.”

In the game, Conny’s shipment day was on October 12th. That was the twentieth act of who-knows-how-many, and Kenma wondered if they were getting nearer to the climax. Like volleyball, discussions on the game took up their daily life. It was like breathing at this point, if Kenma were to exaggerate. 

That, and…

“... Hey. Will the game end… You know, after completing the objective of having Genius and Really Dumb escape?”

The silence that came over was almost eerie. 

“Yeah,” Kuroo replied after who-knows-how-long. “It will.”

* * *

Kenma couldn’t go back to sleep after that.

“Bro, what’s up with your face?!” Kuroo squawked as Kenma opened the front door. His hair was sticking up everywhere and he could not find the mood to stick up to Kuroo’s noisy voice.

“... Shut up, Kuroo.”

Summer break was blue skies and insects. August was proceeding calmly despite the intensity of the game’s situation. Rubbing the lethargy out of his eyes, Kenma squinted at his wallet.

Chattering a bit about some volleyball matches and different techniques and strategies, Kuroo placed his hands into his pockets as they walked across the sidewalk.

“They found out where the transmitters are. And you know? NPCs can sure think of brilliant ideas themselves.”

“Oh?”

Kuroo smiled. “Tag.”

“Tag,” Kenma repeated after him.

Thinking for a moment, he nodded to himself. “That’s smart. They all love tag, after all, so nothing out of the ordinary.”

The older grinned. “Exactly.”

Then he sighed. “But the ‘Sister’ is sure intense.”

“Intense?”

Kuroo nodded. “Extremely intense. I just get tired thinking about it.”

Kenma squinted. “Is it like when you’re in a horror game and a deformed monster chases after you out of nowhere?”

“Precisely.”

The younger shivered. “Scary.”

Looking up, Kuroo stared ahead.

“We’ve formulated some plans… Organized the kids into teams and all. Kenma, you’re really amazing. To think you’ll actually think this far into the game.”

“... Ah,” Kenma fiddled with his hands. “I play a lot, I guess. Took an interest in puzzle ones, recently.”

“‘Cause of me?”

He shrugged. “I mean, we researched a lot. Invested years, no less. And like, we’re only in elementary school. We started this in first or second grade, or something.”

Slowly, Kenma looked up as well.

“It’s like volleyball, I guess.”

Kuroo blinked slowly at the younger.

Opening his mouth, closing it, and then opening it again, the older laughed. 

“Yeah.”

“You’re going to bring up the ‘mole’ question?”

Kuroo nodded. “Yeah, I did. It should be proceeding right now.”

“I’m surprised how developed this game is,” Kenma said. He looked away. “It’s really intense.”

“Isn’t it~”

Kuroo laughed again. They turned the corner as they continued walking.

“Genius is really scary, too,” the older brought up. “November 8, he says… Seriously.”

Kenma blinked. “Whoa, in ten days…? That’s a bit...”

“Right?! Too quick! And not to mention… They went ahead and spun up a tale that the children were being human trafficked—they’re really cruel.”

“... Oh. To the ten year olds?”

Kuroo nodded. “I… Set up the tall one.”

“Oh,” Kenma looked away. “The one called ‘Don?’”

“Yeah.”

Crossing the road, a gentle gust of wind brushed by as Kenma noticed stray plastic trash rolling along. Kuroo quickly picked it up before placing it into a disposable bag. 

Kenma began to hear a humming. 

“I’ve been wondering for some time now, Kuroo. Is that the main theme?” 

Kuroo paused. Standing up straight, he used his free hand to scratch the back of his neck. 

“Yeah. It is,” he said with a smile. They picked up some more trash along their way—it was Kuroo’s idea.

Because opportunities to do these kinds of things shouldn’t be missed, or something along the lines of that.

Self-maintenance. 

* * *

It was not a game. Kenma had his assumptions, and the thought only solidified as it went on. The Game was not a game, it could not be played anywhere. Perhaps only in Kuroo’s head, that was.

A few years ago, Kuroo’s father asked Kenma to help look after Kuroo. He looked very concerned and worried, and Kenma only nodded. Kuroo helped reassure _his own_ parents that Kenma was fine, after all, not to mention Kuroo himself was worrying the younger as well.

Because Kuroo was naturally a quiet, reserved, and shy kid. 

What _was_ the game, anyway? Why did Kuroo put so much of his time and energy on it, when he also had volleyball and other priorities? 

What made the game different? When did it actually start?

Why did he sound so sad, talking about setting the character, Don, up?

The next day arrived. Kuroo ran up the stairs and slammed open Kenma’s door. Kenma stared at his friend with wide eyes. He was only about to turn on his game console.

“Kenma,” Kuroo choked out. “Norman found out. He knows, and now he’s gone even more crazy. You were right, he’s seriously playing 5D chess—it’s insane.”

Kenma’s eyes remained wide as Kuroo slowly walked up to the bed, practically throwing himself under Kenma’s covers. 

For the next few minutes, Kenma continued to stare at his friend, who was most definitely swallowed within the blankets during a still-hot-but-getting-cooler summer break.

… The game was not a game. It could just be Kuroo’s wild imagination, maybe created due to… He didn’t know, a lack of friends? Other types of relations? But the thing was, Kuroo did not have a lack of friends—he was friendly with everyone and he did well at school. Even towards Kenma—Kuroo always seemed to be… Handling himself well. A normal child.

And Kenma understood, he got it. It was usually then no one understood what was going on inside of a “normal” child’s head—Kenma remembered.

Standing up, Kenma walked over to his bed, poking the pile of mess that Kuroo was.

“Kuroo?” 

He pursed his lips.

Sitting down, he turned on his console and began beeping away. They spent the morning like that, until Kenma’s mother came up to tell them that lunch was ready. Kenma managed to pull the older out of the covers.

And at that point, Kenma suddenly had a thought.

The lack of a mother and a ‘Mama’ of another world.

… There was no way, right?

“Sometimes, living like this is tiring,” Kuroo suddenly said. They were washing the dishes with dishwashing soap and sponges. 

It was the end of August. Summer break was ending.

As for the game, it was November 1st. And things began to change.

It had been changing for a long time, actually. The name “Norman” remained.

* * *

Kuroo Tetsurou was always the type to sleep early. He ate healthy, exercised regularly and kept a healthy lifestyle. At this point it should be a habit, Kenma barely saw him eat junk food and the like.

“I’m going to hit the sack,” Kuroo said with a yawn. “See you on the way to school.”

Kenma nodded. 

It was Act Twenty Five: The Investigation. At 13:00 PM, the children of the orphanage would begin their plan to research the outside world. What was out there? What was beyond the walls?

Kenma did not ask why did they still have to investigate despite the game ending after Genius and Really Dumb’s escape. He merely leaned back and listened, wondering what was going through his friend’s mind.

On their way to school, the look on Kuroo’s face was oddly calm. The school’s opening went on smoothly, they went to their respective classes. Class began, Kenma was sitting on the edge of his chair.

Kuroo was oddly calm.

Going back home together, Kuroo remained silent. He was thinking, thinking very hard. Kenma tried his best to keep up with him—the older was walking a bit too quickly. 

Reaching Kenma’s house, they played some volleyball again. It was a silent agreement, Kenma tossing the ball as Kuroo bumped it back. They practiced the _Personal Time Difference Attack_.

Kenma thought about the term “missed opportunities.”

“Kenma,” Kuroo began. “Can I ask you something?”

Blinking slowly, Kenma nodded curtly. Kuroo smiled smally. He looked awfully tired despite sleeping early.

“What do you think… About that plan?”

Oh. About the game.

Kenma thought for a moment. 

“The investigation plan?”

Kuroo nodded.

“... Well…” He tossed the ball again. “I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if… You know. If the game ends up making-”

“He’s going to be shipped out.”

Kenma paused. The ball was dropped to his feet. It was rolling and rolling, and then it stopped.

“Huh?”

“Genius Kid,” Kuroo clarified. “He’s going to get shipped out. The plan is to make it seem like he ran away… Really Dumb got her leg broken, too.”

Kenma kept his lips pressed into a thin line.

“... Kuroo?”

“Hm?”

A beat. And then another.

“I think it’s a cliff. What’s behind the walls.”

Because of how painfully _normal_ Kuroo seemed, Kuroo was actually a mess of… Stuff. Kenma suspected it was some sort of psychological thing, like what he read when they were researching the numerous topics for the game’s sake. Kuroo’s father approaching Kenma only seemed to prove his point, but at the same time, it didn’t seem that way as well.

Kenma wouldn’t be ever sure—he was not a psychologist, he was a ten year old kid. Almost eleven, that was, but still a kid. 

A random Japanese kid studying in Tokyo.

“A cliff?” Kuroo echoed after him. Kenma nodded.

“I watched videos and read reports about how the farm industry works, but since the game is a psychological thriller and that the ‘cattle’ in the game are _genius_ children… The reason for the seemingly lax security could actually be because… It’s basically impossible to escape. Physically.

“Because genius children can figure out a maze. They can find out the guards’ rotations, or even the system of the farm itself. They can’t figure out how to move a mountain.”

Kuroo slowly looked down to his feet.

“... Oh.”

Kenma furrowed his eyebrows.

“But… I don’t think it’s impossible to escape. There should still be a way—multiple ways.”

“... Really?”

Kenma frowned. He met Kuroo’s eyes.

“You sound like you’ve given up. That angers me.”

His friend looked really tired that afternoon. 

It annoyed Kenma even more.

“What are the options? Tell me. I can’t help you if I don’t know all of the details of the game.”

Kuroo laughed. “Eh~ No, it’s alright. It’s just a game, after all-”

“And that is the last thing you should say to _me_ , of all people, Kuroo. Tell me, now.”

Kuroo’s expression made it clear that Kenma was currently resembling a very angry cat. Good, let him feel the wrath of this absolutely ticked off feline. 

“... Alright,” Kuroo nodded. “I’ll tell you.”

Kenma nodded back. “Good.”

They returned to Kenma’s room. Kuroo began talking.

And distantly, Kenma recalled the many strategies he thought up of during the years they were preparing for the main objective. For the sake of Genius Kid and Really-Dumb-but-Kind Friend A’s escape.

* * *

A smaller Kuroo was hiding behind his father’s shadow. They were staring at each other with wide, wide eyes, and Kenma really didn’t feel like interacting with other kids. Stuck in Kenma’s room, neither of them were courageous enough to start the conversation. Kuroo, especially, looked nervous—this was Kenma’s home, after all.

So ironically, it was Kenma who opened up first.

“Do you want to play some _Virtua Fighter_ …?” 

Kuroo was eight years old when they first met. Kenma was seven.

The first time Kenma witnessed the heaviness on Kuroo’s shoulders was when the older first spoke of his game. When Kuroo thought Kenma wasn’t nearby, sometimes, Kenma would hear this whining. Like someone was crying.

It was awkward. Really. Kenma thought it was because Kuroo was upset that he had to leave his old home. Or, maybe that _had_ to do with it, too, but with something else as well.

A parallel universe was not what Kenma expected at all.

It was the beginning of the second term. School just resumed and their workload was beginning to become heavier. It wasn’t a problem for someone like Kuroo, even Kenma could handle it well, too. 

But at the back of his mind, it was November 3rd in Kuroo’s game. Nervously, Kenma placed his hands together.

Genius Kid’s, or Norman’s, shipment day. That was if he didn’t manage to get away.

Kenma hoped that he managed to escape, but at the look on Kuroo’s face, Kenma could only somberly look back down to his game.

For the rest of the day, the older was… Calm. Like the day before, he continued hanging out with other kids, playing soccer here and there, and laughing and joking and he acted like everything was normal. Like nothing was amiss. Kuroo continued playing and watching volleyball with Kenma. Kuroo continued playing volleyball with the swing of his arm and push of his legs. 

For the younger, there was this suffocating chunk of something stuck in his throat. 

Kenma was nervous. It was just like when his dad asked Kuroo about Kenma’s social life, and anxiety spiked.

Kenma was _very_ nervous.

For the next month, Kuroo did not say a word about the game.

They played volleyball, volleyball, and more volleyball. At this rate, they might perfect the _Personal Time Difference Attack_. 

“You’re going to be in junior high,” Kenma said slowly. 

“Yup! And I’ll join the volleyball club—it’ll be fun!”

The younger frowned harder. 

October 16th passed. Kenma was now eleven years old. 

It was now November, and so, so slowly, it was almost the 17th. Kuroo’s birthday.

And in the game, it was going to be January 15th. 

(The birthday of the protagonist—the deadline of the game.)

“See you tomorrow?” 

Kuroo paused. He was holding the Mikasa volleyball tenderly in his hands. Turning around, he smiled brightly at the younger.

“Yeah, see you!”

That night, Kenma found himself staring at his ceiling from his bed. Something strange was swirling in his gut, and Kenma realized that he was scared. Late at night, he stared at the screen with this odd sense of anxiety bubbling in his stomach, and he was _scared_.

Because once, years ago and on a whim, Kenma thought up the plan of burning down the entire orphanage as it wasn’t the game’s objective for the protagonist’s survival.

(“If a high-marking product gets himself in danger right before his shipping date, I don’t think the Mama would abandon the house as easily.”)

He felt like throwing up.

* * *

Some time ago, Kuroo’s father said that Kuroo does not play any video games at home. Kenma had asked him about it, and Kuroo’s father only frowned and tilted his head, this strange glint in his eyes.

“... Game? No… Tetsurou isn't the type to play video games, I don’t think… Most of the time he would be studying or hanging out with his friends. At home, sure, he does pull out his phone here and there, but they’re usually the ones you’ve suggested to him—he doesn’t play them often as well.”

That was during the start of the second term when Kuroo suddenly stopped talking about the game altogether. Kenma was too nervous to ask.

“Kenma,” Kuroo’s father looked nervous as well. “Do you think…”

Kenma nearly jumped out of his skin. Hands clamming up again, he quickly shook his head and stuttered out.

“Kuroo’s smart. He’s just… Reckless. I think.”

Kuroo’s father blinked slowly. After a short pause, he smiled smally. His smile resembled Kuroo’s a lot.

“I’m glad that Tetsurou has a friend like you, Kenma. But I agree, Tetsurou’s… Reckless. He’s also very shy—when he was young, he had a hard time making friends. Back then, he couldn’t speak well, for some reason.”

“... Speak well?”

He nodded. “But his speech picked up quickly soon after, when he was about four or five… But at the moment he started making many friends, we had to move.”

“... Oh…”

Moving. To a new place.

“All we got to do is lower the net,” the old grandpa at the child-friendly gym had said. “The _joy from doing_ should be what’s important, first and foremost.”

“ _Those who love something will become skilled in it._ ”

Kuroo loved volleyball, so he became skilled in it. 

Did he love his “game,” as well?

It was Kuroo’s twelfth birthday. Kuroo was lying down back against the floor, eyes staring straight up to Kenma’s ceiling. 

“I have a confession to make.”

Kenma hummed along, game console in his quickly-getting-clammy hands. He kept his gaze glued to the still black screen.

After a few beats of silence, Kuroo took an audible breath.

“Dual lives, whatever you call it. It’s that.”

“... What?”

Sitting up, Kuroo grinned.

“I’ve been living double lives. Feels straight out of an anime, right?”

Kenma stared at him.

He stared at him for a long time.

“... You were going to set the house on fire.”

“Erm, yeah.”

“And yourself.”

“Mmhm.”

Kenma looked back to his game console, and then back to the other.

“What the hell."

Standing up, his game console hit the floor with a harsh _clack_.

“What the _hell_?!”

_What the hell_ , because the “Yeah, see you!” from the day before sounded like a goodbye. _What the hell,_ because the orphans who were strategically sacrificed were all in fact _real living people_. _What the hell_ , because Genius Kid, the protagonist’s (Kuroo’s) good friend, probably _died_.

All of that, and it was _Kenma_ who basically told Kuroo (the protagonist) to _go and die_ -!

It was the first time Kenma stood up and chucked a fist at a person’s face. His fist hurt a lot afterwards, but it was worth it.

Kenma would make sure it was worth it, from this life to the next.

Kenma’s mother immediately charged up the stairs at the sound of Kenma’s outraged yelling and Kuroo’s desperate apologies. It was also the first time everyone saw Kenma that angry. Kenma’s parents were amazed.

* * *

“So, what’s happening now?”

Kuroo (Ray) hummed. “We found B06-32. It was underground all along. That being said, we found an adult! He’s very shabby, though. Emma threatened him to cooperate with a sweet smile and a bomb.”

“Huh. Cool.”

“What’s with that reaction?” Kuroo laughed. “Guessed all of that already, Mr. Genius?”

Kenma scrunched up his nose at the jab. Kuroo laughed again.

Act Twenty Seven of who-knows-how-many: Really Dumb setting the House on fire and bringing Ray along with the support of Genius Kid’s elaborate plan. Children above the age of five all successfully escaped. 

They, Emma and Norman, were like friends. 

Kenma gave Kuroo a sideways glance. “Will you ever tell them about it,” he squinted, “or did you already.”

Laughter abruptly stopping, Kuroo scratched the back of his head with a nervous chuckle. “About that… I’m not sure how they will take it, actually. With everything going on-”

Kenma gave him a deadpan look.

“... Alright, alright! I’ll tell them, alright?”

“Good.”

Kenma watched as Kuroo bumped the ball. The sky bright, Kenma watched as their shadows stretched accordingly to the light.

“... Where are you planning for high school?”

“Nekoma. Do you know about Coach Nekomata? Hey, we should go together!”

“Eh… We’ll see...”

Kuroo grinned.

“Kenma, give me a toss!”

Raising his arm, Kuroo spiked.

The _joy from doing_ should be what’s important, first and foremost. Those who love something will become skilled in it. 

It would be nice, Kenma thought to himself, if he could ever meet them. If that was possible.

Emma. 

… Norman. 

The orphan children.

It would really be nice.

Many years later, they finally went to the nationals. 

The joy from doing was really what was most important. Eyes closed and happy, Kenma smiled from the gymnasium’s floor.

Satisfaction. The feeling of content.

“Ah, this is fun.”

Kuroo, age eighteen, pulled him into a sweaty, way-too-enthusiastic group hug.

“This” was not “their” human world, but “they” were finally safe, now. 

Kenma continued to keep this thought at the back of his head, and for once… 

Well.

It was fun.

_Really_ fun.


	2. On Priorities, Missed Opportunities and Ethnocentrism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Tetsurou wanted was to "live his life to the fullest," but as Ray, each step he should make was full of guilt and suffocation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Spoilers for The Promised Neverland Manga.

He remembered things. Things from far back—things that he shouldn’t have been able to remember due to the passage of time and age. It shouldn’t be possible. 

But he still remembered.

He didn’t know who came first, though. Ray or Tetsurou. What _did_ leave him the biggest impression as a fetus, however, was that one song. The lullaby. With that in mind, for now, he would say that “Ray” came first. 

There was artificial light and long, boney fingers. Silhouettes wearing white surrounded him when he first came to be—wailing and crying like a normal baby. He got tired and faded, and that was when he woke up to voices and an emotional, hushed whisper.

“Tetsurou, let’s name him Tetsurou.”

A gentle brush against one of his tiny hands. He leaned deeper into the warmth that enveloped him. 

Even though he theorized that Ray was the one who came to be first, it was still a fact that he knew himself as “Tetsurou” before “Ray.”

Tetsurou woke up to a sting in his left ear. Something not human was staring down at him. There were toys at the side, but before he could grab them, he was carried off through a long, dark tunnel. 

He remembered everything in detail—how babies like him were split in groups of five. How there were women wearing similar clothes and lips in a constant frown. 

Later, he woke up to an elderly man smiling at him. There was a vase of flowers sitting at the side, it looked really pretty. As the curtains were barely drawn, afternoon light entered the hospital room in strings. Beside the elderly man was an elderly woman. Tetsurou’s small fingers curled around her pinky.

“You’re going to grow up strong and healthy, Tetsurou. I know you will.” 

He woke up to the squealing of children and a woman calling him “Ray.” She looked very gentle, black hair tied into a bun and a kind, hesitant warmth in her eyes. Ray smiled up at her. As other children tried poking his puffed up cheeks, he squirmed uncomfortably in response. 

Everyone laughed. It was so warm and cheerful.

Ray woke up to himself crying because he got hungry. He stretched out his hand in search of the kind woman, but in return a man with black hair quickly got to his side. The man patted his back with a gentle rhythm and got him some milk. He did all of that while whispering, “Tetsurou, Tetsurou. It’s alright, I’m here.”

Fading in and out, everything made sense. 

“Dad” was where the smell of flowers and pancakes were. “Mama” was where there were lots of kids and books everywhere. 

So to Tetsurou/Ray, it made sense.

* * *

“ _Jii-chan_ ,” the elderly man, Jii-chan, said eagerly to Tetsurou. Tetsurou only giggled in response. “Come on, Tetsurou! Call me _Jii-chan_.”

“What are Ray's first words gonna be, Mama?” An older child asked. She was wearing a tanned coat, little hands fiddling with the edge of her skirt. “Too bad I won’t be able to hear them…”

After a slight pause, Mama smiled gently and chuckled. “Don’t worry! We can always write.”

“ _Ringo_ ,” Tetsurou’s dad pointed at the red circle in the picture book. “That is called a _ringo_.”

“Ringo!” Ray cheered quietly. He held up the apple with careful, stubby hands as the kids stared at him dumbly.

Mama blinked slowly. She smiled. “Oh… That is ‘apple’ in Japanese. Where did you hear that from, Ray?”

Ray tugged his dad’s sleeve. “Tou-chan _…_ Mama?”

The man sputtered in surprise. He stared at his son with wide eyes. “O-oh. Uh, Mama… Well…”

Turning to exchange glances with Jii-chan, Tetsurou’s dad whispered quietly.

“... Is he just saying that or is he actually asking for…?”

Tetsurou was about four when he finally started getting the hang of it (it took him awhile to realize that it was two languages he was learning at the same time). Other kids in kindergarten would either look at him strangely or just play along with his babbles, so it didn’t really matter either way. At Grace Field, Mama always seemed to understand what he was trying to say.

One thing, though—he didn’t like reading. Pictures were easier on his eyes. He liked how shapes could explain so much despite its nature of simplicity—words made his mind into mush.

Though it was also when Tetsurou was about four when he finally started to understand. He became literate, and he _read_ , and he was too scared to ask about _Dad and our house in Tokyo_ or _Mama and everyone at home_.

Nothing in the books told him anything. Nothing factual, that was. He learned about childhood amnesia later, but that was that. 

His dad was surprised at how fast Tetsurou became at learning. Mama, on the other hand, was very proud.

But most importantly—he learned.

Ray found himself frequently sitting alone under the shadow of the big tree. His trip with Emma and Norman to the forbidden gate answered and didn’t answer lingering questions. There was this strange feeling in his chest, and as little as he was, he really wanted his dad right now—to tell him with a hushed, gentle whisper that things were going to be okay.

But even as he woke up ready for school, he couldn’t bear to say a thing about it. His dad was just at the otherside of the table, drinking his coffee and with a plate of pancakes ready, but Tetsurou couldn’t say a thing about it. 

_No one would believe me_ , he thought to himself. _It sounds straight from a cartoon._

_Fantasy._

_A child’s too wild imagination._

For the first time, he found himself alone.

* * *

He was sitting at the corner of the classroom. 

Here was supposed to be _safe_. The teachers said so, Tou-chan as well, and even Tetsurou himself knew that _here was safe_.

Unlike _the house_. 

Tetsurou stared wet-eyed at the fun and games his peers would indulge themselves in. Ray looked away in fear and anxiety as his family laughed and played without worry and dismay. 

This wasn’t fair. 

Another sibling was “adopted.”

This wasn’t fair.

“I wanna ride a giraffe when I grow up!” Emma giggled brightly. Norman beamed at the other with bright eyes. 

Ray stared in terror.

_This wasn’t fair._

He was about three when he fully realized how Emma and Norman were always _there_. Even after some time he would take off on his own, sitting under a tree and reading a book, they would always… Be there. 

They played chess against Mama together. Emma tried pestering Ray to play tag with them. They were so small when they arrived at the forbidden gate, and Ray stared sadly at the looming darkness behind those bars. 

The long fingered, multiple eyed monsters were real. There was no doubt, and something stung in his left ear.

Phantom pains. He must find a way to get rid of the transmitter, right? 

As much as he hated reading, he willed himself to study more. And more. And _more_.

“Ray!” Emma popped up beside him. She smiled brightly. Ray felt his chest constrict. “Let’s go play tag, everyone’s waiting!”

“... I… I don’t really want to...”

She blinked. “Eh~ Why not?”

A tiny hand grabbed his.

Emma beamed at the other. 

“Come on, Ray! It’ll be fun! The weather is super good today!”

Ray thought about the term “missed opportunities.” He watched as his siblings were all shipped off without a future, and then he thought about the very term that haunted his every night.

If he ever slept, that was. Because whenever he would close his eyes and take a deep breath, buried under the warm covers of his bed, he would wake up in another room. In another world.

 _Be grateful with what you have_ , a teacher once said. She was lecturing two kids who ended up in a sloppy fight. 

Jii-chan talked about that a lot, too. A kid once made fun of Tetsurou because he didn’t have a mom. The statement made their homeroom teacher wince, but to Ray, that (the statement) wasn’t true. At least, that was when he hadn’t known better. 

Jii-chan was the one who picked him up after school that day.

“Even though we aren’t exactly very rich, or that we don’t have an expensive car, or that Tetsurou is _su-per_ shy,” Jii-chan’s eyes twinkled with gentle humor as Tetsurou pouted, “the fact we still wake up everyday to a new ‘today’ is something, right?”

...

Ray had what Emma and Norman and everyone didn’t. To all the children who already died, their future was robbed from them. 

Ray (Tetsurou) had a future. Emma and Norman _could_ have a future.

It wasn’t about what was fair or not—the fact that Ray had a separate life in a human world was just a fact. He had to deal with it.

_Live your life to the fullest._

In the end, Ray was still selfish. But if he wasn’t, he felt that Emma would in turn be very…

Angry.

Sitting alone in first grade, Tetsurou heard of volleyball through Vabo-chan. 

It was a mascot character shaped as a ball with arms and legs. A classmate, Riku, had a plushie of it, and with it at school, all of the kids were surrounding the plushie in awe.

“So… That’s Vabo-chan?”

Another classmate, Akira-kun, nodded wisely. “It is.”

Volleyball. It sounded interesting. 

Stepping curiously into the circle of classmates, he asked if he could take a look at Vabo-chan as well. His classmate happily handed over the plushie, and Tetsurou could only stare at the pink volleyball’s round eyes. 

Later on, he researched a bit about volleyball. He joined a children’s team, made a lot of friends, and at that, he thought of what Emma had said.

“Why not?”

That was right. 

_Why not?_

In his hands was a volleyball. Tou-chan got him one. 

He still had to care a little bit about himself—for Tou-chan and Jii-chan and Baa-chan who loved Tetsurou, for his friends Akira-kun, Riku, Tarou, and everyone in the kid’s volleyball team. Even though it was unfair to Emma and Norman and everybody, _Tetsurou_ still had a life to live.

Ray was six when he settled down somewhere near the gate. Book opened, he sat down beside a tree and began reading. It was a book about electronics.

There were many scratches at the back of his ear. He hoped that Mama wouldn’t notice. He hoped nobody would, because as Tetsurou, the pain would still be there.

Because of that pain, Tetsurou would do his best to live a good life. All of that, and to make sure Ray’s family would _survive_.

He began humming.

…

“... Ray?”

(He had heard Mama hum that one song a lot.)

* * *

Mama was always kind. She was a mother, and to Ray, she was always his mother just as his dad was his father. 

Sadly, his two parents were in separate worlds. If someone asked him “which world do you think is the real one,” he wouldn’t be able to answer. It wasn’t like anyone knew in the first place, though. 

Tetsurou was eight when the Kuroo Family of four had to move. The news came so suddenly, Tetsurou could only stand there with a volleyball tightly gripped in his clutches, lips pressed into a thin, tight line.

He finally made some friends, though.

This was hard.

His friends in the volleyball team he was in wrote him a card. They drew a tiny volleyball and a Vabo-chan on the white paper.

“We’ll miss you, Tetsurou! Play lots of volleyball, alright?”

He nodded somberly. He doesn’t do well in new places. 

“Let’s go see our neighbors, shall we?” Tetsurou’s dad chirped with an attempt of excitement—he was trying his best to cheer up his son. Tetsurou didn’t want his dad to embarrass himself, so he quickly complied and stuck closely behind. 

He fiddled with the edge of his shirt as they approached the Kozume’s. 

The ringing of a doorbell later, the Kuroos entered the house with the exchange of “hellos” and “nice to meet you, I’m your neighbor from now on.”

“I am Kuroo,” Tetsurou’s father said to the other, a woman with a bright, welcoming smile. Standing behind her, like how Tetsurou was behind his dad, was a small boy with wide, cat-like eyes. Like Tetsurou, the boy had a hand clutching onto the edge of his parent’s shirt. Tetsurou felt a small connection with him. 

Tetsurou was eight when he met the seven year old Kenma. Their first encounter was very awkward.

They played some _Virtua Fighter_ as a pastime. 

* * *

It was when Ray began comparing the norm between life at Tokyo to Grace Field did he actually notice the looming danger that surrounded the thirty eight orphans. 

The numbers on everyone’s necks. The tests and strict schedules they have everyday. Stripped bolts that were on the outside of the house—Tetsurou once accidentally watched a quite disturbing movie with Akira-kun (who was equally disturbed by it as well). It reminded him of that. 

The books Ray had read talked about life apart from the orphanage. Eiffel Tower, Mount Everest. Notable people across the centuries. History. 

Tetsurou looked up to the clear sky, a small hand holding his father’s as they walked through the crowded streets of the city.

It all lined up.

Grace Field was not a normal orphanage.

His life was not the norm.

Norman got sick again and Emma didn’t want him to be lonely. Together, they put together the telephone cup and slid it to their friend. 

Two people separated with a wooden door. A string connecting the two worlds together.

Tetsurou felt a fever burning underneath his skin. Lying on the couch with his face facing the ceiling, he kept his eyes squeezed shut. 

It was crazy. At Grace Field, it was long past 2040. Here? They were still in the 2000s. The dates in the same books but different places match up. A book Ray read was only released today.

What was real?

…

“Do you… Want to play something else?”

He jumped in surprise. Eyes still glued to the ground, Tetsurou nervously stood up and nodded.

He brought back a volleyball and an awkward smile. Kenma’s face was visible with a rather deadpan expression.

Tetsurou actually didn’t know how exactly volleyball caught his attention. Vabo-chan was one thing, but then it just… Stuck. Maybe it was because after learning some volleyball, he finally made some friends as Tetsurou. Maybe it was that.

But looking back, he was glad that he liked volleyball, that he played volleyball.

Kenma stared at his arms with wide eyes. Looking over his friend’s shoulder, Tetsurou noticed the familiar red and spotty appearance on his companion’s arms.

“Ah, that’s nothing but a little internal bleeding,” Tetsurou quickly explained. “When you play lots, it eventually stops appearing.”

“... Oh.”

Nodding, Tetsurou tried bumping the ball again. They ended up stepping into mud, but it was fun.

It was… Really fun.

* * *

Kozume Kenma was actually very smart. Smart, as in Grace Field-level smart. 

It wasn’t very obvious through report cards and all of that, but after some time, Tetsurou _noticed_. Kenma was smart like Emma—no, like _Norman_.

Maybe not as much in the academics, as the Japanese education was only that much, but Tetsurou could see Kenma getting 300s if he had studied under Mama in the other world. As a matter of fact, if Kenma made the effort, he could totally ace every class at school with ease.

At the same time, however, Tetsurou also knew that Kenma wouldn’t bother putting extra energy on his studies and academics. It was evident, and his parents knew that, so they didn’t push him to reach further in school (whether they knew that their son was a natural genius or not).

But then again—it really surprised him. Took him off guard.

Kenma was… _Norman smart_. A baby-version of it, but still. 

_Norman-level genius_. 

“... This level is hard,” Kenma made a small grumble. Beeping away with his game console, Tetsurou sat awkwardly at the side.

He contemplated his choices. 

After a few, Kenma defeated the boss. He looked very pleased with himself. 

Tetsurou spent another month weighing his options. Because, well, he would feel guilty, you know? And he couldn’t possibly, well. 

He enjoyed playing games and volleyball with Kenma. This was a friendship he valued a lot, and as Tetsurou, maybe it was best to keep his life as Ray as far away as possible.

But… _But_. 

Ray was only a hard worker. Could he possibly ensure Emma’s and Norman’s safety just with his own ability? Could he constantly keep a cool head and win against _Mama_ with all that he had?

Could he do it? 

A night later, he had a minor panic attack. He had his head sandwiched between two pillows, eyes watering and breath short and messy. He swallowed, all he could hear was the clicking of his clock. Jii-chan and Baa-chan’s room was right beside his, he must not be loud. 

...

There was a series of beeps. Tetsurou’s gaze slowly drifted to Kenma's TV screen. 

He was playing an adventure game. Saving his progress, the younger closed the case and prepared to take out another one. 

… Video games.

“Say, Kenma? Um, I have this question…” 

A “hypothetical” one, he quickly added.

* * *

On a free Sunday, Tetsurou invited Kenma to play volleyball at a children’s gym. The gym was filled with many kids, and at the sound of, well, _volleyball_ , Tetsurou’s mood quickly brightened up. 

This was a familiar place. Before he moved, he would be at this kind of place with his old volleyball team.

“That looks cool,” Kenma nodded to some kids doing spiking drills. “Why don’t you try doing it?”

“Ah, that’s called a spike! I know right, it’s so cool! But you gotta be tall for it... The net’s too high for me,” Tetsurou replied. Emma could probably still jump and hit a spike, though. She was athletically better than him—well, everyone.

… He did kind of want to try it out, though. Just… Kind of. 

“All we got to do is lower the net,” a gentle, warm voice said. An elder with a slight hunchback walked past them as the staff quickly greeted him. 

“The _joy from doing_ should be what’s important, first and foremost.”

…

Maybe it was a sense of validation he was feeling, or that… Tetsurou wasn’t really sure, but still. He sniffled.

Someone tossed for him. Jumping, he missed the first two tosses before making his next attempt.

He spiked.

He _spiked_ , and things became a little more fine.

* * *

He was humming. Lying on his bed, he hummed the gentle tune from the depth of his memories. 

The song was a gentle one, he associated it with kind voices. He wanted to associate it with Mama, but he knew her voice was a painful lie. 

He closed his eyes.

Kenma helped strengthen his plans. Tetsurou tweaked them accordingly as Ray, but with Kenma’s (unknowing) support, he felt more sure about what he was doing. So just slightly, he felt stronger. 

It was a double-edged sword, that feeling. If he felt too strong, he could wound up losing everything. But if he was always unsure, every step indecisive and shakey… The answer to that was obvious. 

Kenma’s thought process was straightforward and logical. He had no emotional connections to the “characters” nor was he aware of the other factors. For that reason, he saw the game through an objective point of view.

What sacrifices must the protagonist make to ensure the highest percentage of success? What must he do so that Genius Kid (Norman) and Really-Dumb-but-Kind-Friend-A (Emma) would _definitely_ survive this whole ordeal?

Ray watched another child go. The kid had a hand holding Mama’s as they walked out of the door.

He didn’t realize, but as Tetsurou, he began humming louder. Louder and louder, and sleeping over at Kenma’s, he was unaware of his friend’s unsure and brooding frown.

“The game wants you to feel guilty, huh.”

The sun was at an angle. The day soon to be night, Tetsurou and Kenma were outside playing volleyball.

Tetsurou blinked.

“What?”

Kenma looked up to meet his eyes. “The game. Since it’s a mind game, it’s probably the developer’s intention to make you feel horrible as you continue to play. Which makes me wonder…” Pausing, Kenma stared down to the volleyball in his arms.

“I wonder if it’s possible to save _all_ of the orphans, or if that’s an ending possible to reach,” he chuckled quietly to himself. “Or maybe the actual objective _is_ to save them all. That game of yours has a lot of twists, after all.”

Tetsurou kept quiet. There was this strange silence in his head, so he looked down and nodded.

“I dunno,” he settled with saying. They bumped the ball back and forth for a few. Going back home that night, Tetsurou stared at his red and spotty arms. 

Ray’s were usually covered with white sleeves of the orphanage. He was healthy but skinny as Ray. 

Closing his eyes, he opened them to the wooden ceiling and six o’clock in the morning. The grandfather was clock calling. 

“Good morning, everyone!” Emma cheered. Some kids groaned before slipping out of their beds. It was another day.

Watching his friends, he wondered what it would be like, if he could ever introduce Kenma to them and vice versa.

He wondered.

Those ponderings were poisonous thoughts.

* * *

“Oh, Tetsu-kun!”

Rushing with some friends to go out and play some soccer, Kenma’s father called from Kenma’s front yard. 

“Hey, why don’t you bring Kenma along to play soccer every so often?” Just a thought, he quickly added. Tetsurou blinked.

After giving his answer, he quickly gave a quick, enthusiastic “see you later” as he caught up with his friends. The park was already taken when they got there, sadly. At that, the next day, Tetsurou grabbed some of his recordings and brought them over to Kenma’s. They watched some more volleyball matches as the sun went down.

For some reason, Kenma, in his own way, was much more enthusiastic as they observed the players in the video. 

“So, how’s your game going?” Kenma asked. Tetsurou hummed and talked about the next item he managed to get as a “prize.” 

Honestly, Tetsurou wanted to talk more about volleyball and other kid stuff over his dubbed “game.” Kenma somehow always managed to mention it in the end, though. 

Like Emma but Kenma-style, Tetsurou thought to himself, it was as if Kenma didn’t want him to handle it alone. 

Tetsurou paused.

… Ah, that was a strange thought. He laughed quietly to himself. Kenma, like Emma? Yeah right.

There was no way, right? 

He spent the next few minutes subtly shooting Kenma suspicious glances. After making sure that it was all just a fluke, he went on with the day. 

They watched some more volleyball videos. Kenma’s mom called them down for dinner. 

“ _Itadakimasu_ ,” they all said.

* * *

A few weeks into the birth of his “game,” Tetsurou and Kenma stuck in Kenma’s room spent the afternoon discussing about it—the options and everything.

Somehow, they started talking about the kitchen and what was in it, and then offhandedly, Kenma talked about a scenario where the protagonist could use the gasoline. 

A fairly simple idea, actually. An idea that only needed the oil, a matchstick, and then a person.

Kenma later waved it off, face pinched up and still wondering what exactly _was_ the game (he probably tried searching it up—saying that he only got some weird horror story about something to do with _Peter Pan_ ). Tetsurou, on the other hand, could only widen his eyes in the slightest way.

It was an idea he did think about, actually. He thought about it when he had to leave his old neighborhood—distressed and defeated when he had to leave his first friends. 

Gasoline and a matchstick. 

And then a person, a “product,” so Mama wouldn’t be able to pay attention to the escaping kids.

He thought about it a lot. The more he thought about it, the more it became developed.

One day, he hated Mama a lot. 

“I’m sorry I have to do this, Ray.”

_What “I’m sorry,” you two-faced liar. Look at that smile on your face, how are you “sorry?”_

There was a burning sensation in his hand, the same hand that Mama took when he was six, the two of them walking back to the House from the Gate. The day when he sold himself, to the woman who looked of anguish and the pain vanished—she hidden it perfectly. Masked it.

Now he could call her a demon. Did she really care?

(She did, a small voice said at the back of his mind. She loved you, she really did.)

When Norman played his moves and found out about his other secret—that he was “The Spy”—he kind of broke down a little, afterwards. He cried about it to Kenma, the younger patiently listening to his confusing rambles.

The next day he had sucked up his tears and continued the “game.” He pressed “play,” and little by little, he tried to twist and turn this heartbreaking road and fate. He tried to formulate the perfect plot backed up by so, many, more. 

All together supported by the gasoline plan.

* * *

Tetsurou picked up some trash with Kenma. They do that as often as they could—his idea, really, in courtesy for one of the adopted children. 

There was a girl who asked about his first words. One of the other older children who later got shipped out told him about it. She dreamed of becoming something like a community service worker, to wander the streets while doing something to help the city. Wouldn’t that be nice?

A plastic bag rolled with the wind. Tetsurou bent down to pick it up with his trash tongs. 

Missed opportunities. 

The red lines crossing out each day off the calendar was increasing. They were going to be twelve—Ray had to hurry.

(But be patient. You have to be patient.)

 _Don’t be hasty_ , a voice told him. _It’s just like in volleyball_. _Don't you remember the Personal Time Difference Attack?_

Ray watched with horror as Emma whimpered in pain, a dying out scream trapped within closed tight lips. Her leg was broken clean.

Mama was smiling.

Norman, he was going to die.

Norman was going to die.

 _Don’t be hasty_.

 _Kenma was always_ there _, too, you know. Like Emma and Norman. Don't you see?_

Much later, he recognized the small voice. How he couldn’t recognize it was funny, Ray really wanted to break down and just… He didn’t know. Fall into some sort of actual sleep? He read about it, he was _definitely_ not having your conventional sleep.

Norman died.

Kenma was right there beside him, and to his best friend, Tetsurou smiled.

“Yeah, see you!”

* * *

To the bottom of his heart, he loved Tou-chan, Jii-chan, and Baa-chan so very much. He loved his life as Tetsurou, he dreamed of going to the high school nationals. 

Sitting alone at the dining room, rows and rows of wooden tables all around him, Ray read the final book of the House. It was a fiction novel, a fantasy one. A nice story, really. It would have been depressing if it was a sad one.

Norman died, but he left a gift.

A gift in the form of Emma, and then all the rest of the Grace Field kids.

“You can die wherever you want, but this isn’t the place. I’ll show you something great so shut up and come.”

A true slap in the face. 

Suddenly, he was reminded of Jii-chan’s words. After that small “fight” with a classmate, his grandfather came to pick him up after school. Jii-chan’s smile was bright and soft. He was getting old. 

_Everyday is a ‘new day.’ Don’t take your own tomorrow away._

Physically getting slapped in the face by Emma was very painful. It made Ray think that she would definitely be good at volleyball if she could ever try the sport one day, and since… Well, _this_ happened, the possibilities…

They were endless, right?

Fire lit up. It was bright like the firecrackers during the new years. It was orange and bright. Ray stared. 

He stared like the air was strangled out of him and his chest started to hurt a little. He choked up, secretly, not wanting the other kids to see. 

_Kemna_.

 _Tou-chan, Jii-chan, Baa-chan_.

The little voice in his heart was whining. Together with the other orphan kids, they ran to the edge of their once-known world. Ray and Tetsurou watched as Norman’s plan unfolded before them, put into full play by the children Ray thought to abandon from the start. 

They didn’t have to all be Norman-level smart. They didn’t. 

They just have to be bright enough, and eventually, with enough time, success was always at sight. 

Because of Norman. 

Holding Jemima gently in his arms and then adjusting the cloth that tied the two together, Ray held onto the hanger with a strong, strong grip. 

He leaped, and leaping forth, he felt the wind press onto his skin and a feeling similar to when he was with Akira, Tarou, and everyone else back at that volleyball team was in his chest. 

It was funny, really, how he never recognized the little voice that was in his head.

It was Tetsurou’s.

All along, it was Tetsurou’s. Kuroo Tetsurou, who dreamed of going to the nationals with Kenma and their future high school team.

Kuroo Tetsurou, who wanted a friend and to play some more volleyball.

* * *

“Seriously?” Don stared at him with wide eyes. If he were to be cruel, Ray would say it was like when they broke it to Don and Gilda that Mama was kind of human-trafficking their family and the orphanage was actually a farm.

Ray laughed. “Yeah, I’m serious.”

Kids running down the shelter halls with books and some more books, Don blinked slowly before shaking his head.

“That sounds… I dunno. What the hell.”

“Yeah. ‘What the hell,’ right?”

On the other hand, Emma had a stranger look on her face.

“So… Double lives…?”

Ray nodded. “When I sleep, I go to the ‘other world.’ So technically, I don’t really sleep. I don’t know what sleeping’s really like, but I _do_ feel rested when I wake up on the other side, though.”

Gilda made a low hum. She scratched the back of her head. “That’s…”

“Wait wait wait, so like, combined _with_ the lack of childhood amnesia, and then some photographic memory, you got… What, parallel universes in your brain?!”

“Well, yes, to put it shortly…”

Pausing, Ray noticed a small smile on Emma’s lips.

She grinned. “Tell us about it?”

Blinking, he returned the smile.

“Of course. Hey, guys? There’s someone I want to introduce to you all…”

Priorities and priorities. The term “missed opportunities” continued to stick with him no matter when or where. The demons should be eradicated because they hurt humans, those worse off should take most priority. Humans were always in the center of the world, the term “ethnocentrism” applied to all nations and people. 

Even demons. Demons ate human brains, they were basically _human_ themselves _._

Emma took his hand. It was the same hand that Mama had held that day. 

“I’m glad,” she said. “I’m so, so glad.”

Ray’s hand shook. His voice trembled a little.

“Yeah,” he sniffled. “I’m glad, too.”

And when they reunited with Norman, one day and faraway, the first thing he did returning as Tetsurou was to tackle Kenma in the middle of his oh-so-important raid. It was a beautiful day, sunny and bright, and he yelled on the top of his lungs and blubbering with squeezed back tears:

“KENMA, HE’S ALIVE."

“ _KUROO. MY GAME._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :D


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